


Looking for Nostalgia

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-05
Updated: 2011-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s missing something he can’t even remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking for Nostalgia

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to subtlefire for the beta.

He’s missing something he can’t even remember.

He’s Sam Beckett. At least, this time, he remembers his name. He’s a jumble of knowledge, feelings, emotions, and memories that don’t all belong to him. He can’t tell which are his, and which belong to other people.

It’s an ache; it can’t be nostalgia because nostalgia thrives in remembrance. _Nostos_ , homecoming, _algia_ , distress. Go figure in which of his incarnations he learned that, but that’s not the point. The point is that, once again, he can’t remember home – whatever you put behind that word.

Al finds him sitting on the carpet, by the bed of whomever he’s leaped into. It takes him twenty seconds to evaluate the situation, go from his quirky friend mode into his Admiral one, and start yelling at Sam. No success. Since it’s obvious that Admiral Calavicci won’t be of any use here, he reverts to Al, sighs, punches a few keys on his handlink and slides down to sit in front of Sam. Well, hundreds of miles, dozens of years away in the future in front of Sam.

“Don’t make me get Veb in there, Sam,” he whines. “If you won’t do it for you, do it for me. You know I can’t deal with the shrink stuff.” He lowers his voice. “They poke holes in your brain, you know!”

“My brain is already full of holes. You know, the Swiss cheese thing?”

Ash falls from the tip of Al’s cigar and vanishes. Sam computes that it landed on the floor of the Imaging Chamber hundreds of miles, dozens of years away in the future. He wonders if one day, he’s going to leap back home and find the floor of the Imaging Chamber – the floor of the God-knows-how-many-million-dollars Imaging Chamber – covered in cigar ash.

“You can always poke more holes, especially if you’re a shrink.”

“Is that an unsubtle way to tell me that things could be worse?”

“You tell me, kid.”

More ash falling. He doesn’t talk anymore. He waits and waits, until Sam looks up.

“That’s it?” Sam says. “No stories about the people I helped? No big life lessons? No offering to show me the last issue of Playboy magazine?”

“You’re hopeless and can’t appreciate a good centerfold the way it deserves, Sam, so I’m not going to bother. As for the rest, there’s nothing I can do except... stay here with you and wait.”

He stays with him and waits. Even when, he explains to Sam, people knock hard on the door of the Chamber, asking him to get out, reminding him how much each minute spent in there costs in energy, and that in this case, energy is money.

“Most expensive friendship ever,” Sam points out with a smile.

Al avoids his gaze and fumbles awkwardly with his Chavello, and Sam _knows_ he’s going to come up with something sentimental he’ll later deny having said.

“Friendship’s priceless,” he grumbles.

“Say that to the taxpayers.”

“I pay taxes too. You still pay taxes too, by the way. You may be lost in time, but your assets aren’t lost on the IRS. Plus, we have private funding. And last but not least, since our Project Director is MIA, I run the circus.”

Sam shakes his head.

He’s missing something he can’t even remember. At this instant, though, he’s _this_ close to touching it.

* *


End file.
